


⊰✧⊱ Arcane Incarnate

by Ethren



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, Plague victim apprentice, Smut, Spoilers, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 03:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15572769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethren/pseuds/Ethren
Summary: A collection of non-chronological stories featuring my apprentice, Ethren (Ren) Whitecross.This particular one features the apprentice's death, and waking after resurrection.





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of non-chronological stories featuring my apprentice, Ethren (Ren) Whitecross.  
> This particular one features the apprentice's death, and waking after resurrection.

They were like a herd of cattle on their way towards the slaughter house.

The young man could barely think. Could barely speak. His mouth was so dry that licking his lips felt like scraping his tongue against sandpaper. The sky was tinted with blood as he shuffled along with the rest of the plague victims, ignoring the light jabs as spears prodded into the small of his back, ushering him forward. The guards were garbed in thick coats that were black with soot, masks resembling the guises of ravens shielding their faces. 

Every breath Ren took, he could smell ash and burning flesh until the taste was impressioned in his mouth. He gave a racking cough, blood on his tongue as he stumbled forwards towards the dark castle that loomed directly ahead.  

The dark spires of the Lazaret curved into the smoky sky, the woods surrounding it so thick that the vines and woven branches blocked out any starlight. The sky was darkened in smoke and ash as columns of sweeping black billowed out of the Lazaret towers.

He stumbled as another wave of heat washed over him and his knees hit the sand. No....not sand. As he curved his fingers into the ground he lurched back, feeling bile rise in his throat. Ash.

Instinctively, he reached for the obsidian arrowhead fastened around his neck. 

He was so tired. The plague seeped into his very bones, pulling the strength from his body until all he could do was lie there. There was a sharp pain as a guard grabbed his hair, yanking the boy to his feet. “Move forward!” he barked, shoving the apprentice into another plague victim.  Their eyes looked as though they were bleeding as they looked back at Ren tiredly. The sclera was blood red, skin a sickly pale as they were herded inside the Lazaret. 

The sound of mournful wails and shrieks of pain filled the air as the diseased were herded inside the castle. Numerous beds were pressed against the wall, each one with a patient lying on their frames. Some were covered in shrouds, others seemingly on the brink of death as their chests rose and fell, eliciting raspy breaths.  

Ren felt himself beginning to fall again. His teal, blood filled eyes eyes fluttered, leaning to the side but as he fell, he felt a hand close around his shoulder, keeping him upright. Ren glanced over. An elderly man, in his forties stood over the boy, giving a sad smile, his crimson eyes crinkled in pity.

They were in the same boat. 

There was no leaving the Lazaret.

“We have too many patients!” Complained one of the doctors, hovering over a young child who gave a liquid filled cough.  “There simply isn’t enough room!”

“First, take the strongest, and bring them into the lab. Valdemar will want to have a look at them back at the palace.” The elderly man’s eyes widened with panic as he was wrenched away roughly, stumbling along and out the door along with a dozen other men and women.  

“So what are we do with this lot?”

At that moment, Ren’s legs gave out. 

He couldn’t stand anymore.

And this time, there was no one there to catch him.

He crumpled to the ground, and the other patients around him shuffled uneasily. The floor was cold. Concrete slabs pressed against my cheeks as he lay, my body still. He could fall asleep there. Not wake up. Every breath was an effort. He could hear their voices echoing around him, like they were speaking underwater. “Most of them are half dead anyways. Light them up.” 

Ren could feel himself being picked up and forced to his feet. There were so many people crowding around, he felt as though he might trip over himself until he realized he wasn’t even standing on his own. He was being kept upright by the sheer weight of hundreds of sickly men, women and children pressing against him from all sides as they were forced into a small room.

The door slammed shut behind them, and there was darkness. He could hear the whimpers of pain and fear from the other victims, as they wondered what was about to happen to them. The room was painted black....no. Not painted. Tiredly, Ren lifted his pale hand, pressing it against the wall and when he pulled away, ash clung to his hand and he choked, engulfing a breath filled with the scent of burnt flesh and smoke.

No....no way. This can’t be happening. Panic clenched around his chest, like a hand gripping his heart as terror ensued among the victims as they realized their fate. At one point - Ren fell, knocked over by a panicked victim. He could feel his body being trampled and crushed as tangled limbs became all he could see. That, and red. Wails of pain filled the room as heat began to press down on them, smoke filling their lungs.

Red. 

It was all he could see...he could scarcely remember his lover. He couldn’t remember anything, past the numb that was beginning to latch onto him like a parasite as he slowly lost consciousness. His name...what was his name again. He remembered white hair. Lavender eyes. Asra. He remembered Asra begging him to leave the city. He remembered arguing, insisting that he had to stay, help Dr. Devorak find a cure. He remembered Asra leaving, angry, frustrated.

He’d never see him again.

Ren opened his eyes. Red was all he could see. He could barely feel the flames licking at the corners of his fingers, his toes. All he could hear was the sound of flames, engulfing him. He rasped, finding his voice through the smoke and the flames, his lips dry and eyes stained wet with blood and tears. 

“I’m...sorry.”

 

_ No! Bring him back. Please. Take my magic, take my soul, take my heart! I’ll give anything, just bring him  _ **_back_ ** _! _

 

The voice was like a distant memory now. A memory of someone else’s life. When he woke, he could smell...something. Food? What did food taste like again? He couldn’t see anything except black. Something was covering his eyes. As he began to stir, he heard clattering around him, of someone moving briskly and a warm hand gripped his. He felt like a furnace compared to this person’s hand. He could hear a voice. 

Whose voice was that again? 

“God...you’re finally awake. Ren, how do you feel.”

Ren...who was Ren. Thinking was an effort, like he was trying to see beyond mist with every thought that crossed his mind and he felt soft hands pulling on the fabric that was around his eyes. Everything was blurry for a moment. He could see nothing except a flash of white and lavender, and sunlight glowing from beyond a window. “Good, the red is gone...Ren, are you with me..?”

The world around him came into focus. He was lying on a bed, covered in lilac sheets and blankets with glasses of water on a nearby nightstand. He was wearing white clothes that were damp with sweat and before him, was a young man. He must have been his age, perhaps a year older with fluffy white hair, tanned skin and violet eyes that watched him with fierce intensity. “Ren,” he said again, this time his voice was constricted.

He lifted his finger, sweeping it past the boy’s eyes. He could barely follow it, the effort making him sink back into the bed wordlessly. The man watched him for a long while before he leaned over, crushing herbs into goo with a mortar and pestle before mixing it in with a glowing liquid. He lifted a spoon to the boy’s lips, nudging it into his mouth.

Gross. It was disgusting. His healer continued to talk. His voice was quiet, smooth like a song as he poured a glass of tea, lifting it to Ren’s lips. His tanned fingers curled into the boy’s caramel hair, lifting his head up to keep him from spilling. 

_ Okay?  _ The man glanced over as a snake slithered up onto the bed, nudging Ren’s finger with her snout.  _ Asra sad? _

Asra’s throat clenched. “Ren’s fine, Faust,” he whispered hoarsely. “Could you please go to the market, find some mandrake root?”

The last thing it seemed the snake wanted to do was leave. She had her tail coiled around Ren’s wrist. Who was this snake again? But eventually she left, slipping out a window and disappeared. Then there was silence. It was crushing. Nearly as crushing as the flames...flames? When....when had there been flames...

“Ren...”

This time, the voice was like a beg as the man leaned forward, gripping his shoulders as he gave a firm shake. “Ren, snap out of it!” Ren’s head bobbed listlessly, teal eyes gazing like a dead man’s at the window. He felt something strike his hand. Something wet. For the first time, Ren’s gaze slid over to Asra’s face. Tears welled in his lavender eyes as he continued to grip Ren’s shoulders so tight his knuckles were white, eyes searching his face. 

Suddenly, Asra threw himself onto the bed, wrapping his arms tightly around Ren’s shoulders as he held the boy to his chest, squeezing him tightly. “ _ I’m sorry,”  _ Asra sobbed, burying his face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m so...so sorry, I never should have left, I...” he trailed off as a choke welled in his throat, shaking his head. Ren couldn’t understand him. His apologies were wasted on deaf ears. 

His fingers curved into the boy’s shirt as he held him tighter against him. “I’ll help you,” he whimpered, grating his teeth. “I promise, I’ll help you...I won’t ever let you slip away again.”

 


	2. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the apprentice left Asra to go work with Julian during the plague.

“You can’t do this.”

Ren bared his teeth, shoving more of his belongings into a nearby satchel. The air was tense and stormy, as though there might be electricity crackling between the two men who stood on opposite ends of the room. Asra’s fists were clenched at his side, his lavender eyes narrowed as he watched Ren continue around the room, gathering his things.

The room was dark, and cold. The curtains were drawn over the window and outside there was nothing but silence in the streets. No laughter. No talking. No merchants, or singing in the taverns. Just a distant wailing of grief and the howl of a stray dog. It was like a ghost town. 

“Ren. Please.”

“Stop.” Ren’s voice snapped out, harsher than he intended and he glanced over his shoulder, feeling a twinge of guilt as he watched Asra visibly flinch. He gave a breath, setting down his knapsack as he rubbed his face tiredly. “...you can’t stop me, Asra. This is something I have to do.”

“Why?!” Asra paced circles into the small room. A small, pale snake slithered out of his sleeve, hiding underneath a rolled up parchment, which Ren plucked up and pushed into his bag. He ignored the look of grief she gave him. 

“There has to be a cure. And Dr. Devorak-”

“To what end?” Asra hissed. He marched over and for a moment, Ren thought the man might strike him before he tore open the curtains, light spilling into the room. Ren blinked against the sudden luminance, and immediately felt his heart sink. Bodies were piled up outside, mountains of them. The sick wandered in the streets like zombies. Children and elders begged in the streets, hacking up crimson fluid. And their pupils and irises seemed to float in pools of blood. “There’s no stopping this,” he whispered hoarsely, before closing the blinds. “We can leave. I have shelter we can go to, outside the city. Or to my friend Muriel, we can-”

“Asra!” Ren’s fist slammed down on the table so hard that Faust jumped, squirming out of view. The silence in the room was heavy as an anvil. Asra’s eyes were latched onto the back of Ren’s head as his young lover stood, hunched over the table with a curtain of choppy, caramel hair falling over his eyes. “I can’t....” he swallowed. “I can’t just leave.”

“If this is about what I said-”

“It’s not about what you said!” Ren snarled, whipping around on him. “This has nothing to do with you, it has to do with me. I can’t run away from this.”

“Ren, I-”

There was a knock at the door. Asra stiffened. Ren held his gaze for a moment longer before stepping away, pushing back the curtain an inch to get a good view outside their door. A man stood, in a black coat with crimson locks curling around an ebony raven mask. “He’s here,” he muttered. “I have to go.” 

“Ren, no!”

Asra was ignored as Ren moved to the door, pulling it open. Almost immediately, Ren was startled as the doctor gave an elegant bow, his cloak flamboyantly flashing. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he purred, a husky voice echoing from behind the mask. 

“Dr. Devorak..?”

“The one and only. And you must be my new associate, Ren! You’re as dashing as I imagined.” Before Ren could react, his hand was swiped up by the doctor, and brought up to his mask. Long, dexterous fingers pushed aside his mask where Ren could see a flash of his thin lips, bringing his hand up for a kiss on his knuckles before giving a white grin, shifting the mask back over. 

“Bold,” Ren muttered, rubbing his knuckles across Asra’s shirt as the white haired man sauntered forward, a scowl drawn over his features.

“If we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls,” he purred.

“And what if I’d been infected?” 

There was a long pause from Dr. Devorak, before he gave a nervous laugh. “Ah, at times I’m sure it damns our souls as well. You ah....you’re not infected, are you?”

Ren rolled his eyes. “No. But maybe you should be more careful next time.” 

“With how easily he loans his lips, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were,” Asra muttered under his breath, and Ren scowled at him as Dr. Devorak, who didn't seem to have heard Asra's quip, barked a laugh.

“Of course! And where we’re heading, we will certainly need caution. Off we go, then!” With another flurry of his cloak, Dr. Devorak was off, strutting down the street. 

Ren threw his knapsack over his shoulder. He moved to follow Dr. Devorak when a warm hand clasped his wrist. “Ren.”

The one word broke in Asra’s throat and Ren felt his resolve melt away. He glanced over his shoulder, jolting when he noticed the moisture pooling at the corner of his lover’s white lashes. “You’re just going to leave?” Asra whispered, his grip tightening. “After everything we’ve been through...just like that?”

“Asra...” Ren rubbed his face, fastening his knapsack so that it was secure and he turned, taking both of Asra’s hands in his. “Everything will be okay. I just...I have to do this. I promise I’ll come back.”

Asra didn’t answer. His violet eyes stared at Ren’s hands until the younger finally let go. He walked out the door, following Dr. Devorak into the plagued streets. 

“Don’t bother.”

Ren had only taken two steps out the door when Asra’s strained voice brought his boots to a screeching halt. Did he....hear that right? He turned to face Asra, who glowered at him, fists clenched at his sides. “....are you serious?”

“I’m giving you a choice, Ren. Me, or a city that has never done  _ anything _ for you." His voice rose to a shout, slashing his hand through the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Ren could see Dr. Devrak pausing, glancing back at the two curiously. Asra took a shuddering breath. "If you leave...you will have nothing to come home to.”

Ren stared at his former lover, jaw slack with despair. “...are you really making me choose?” Ren whispered. Asra didn't answer. "...I have to do this, Asra. I'm sorry...go to your shelter. Be safe."

Asra watched his shoes, not meeting his eyes. Finally, wordlessly, Asra turned on his heels, striding back in the shop and slammed the door behind him. Ren watched the door for a long while, his heart breaking in his chest. Then he gave a breath, shaking his head. “Goodbye, Asra.”

And he followed Dr. Devorak, tears flowing down his cheeks.  _ Please...don't let the plague touch him. _


	3. Blood & Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asra learns that the apprentice has fallen ill with the red death and races to save him.   
> And we all know how that ends up.
> 
> I do have a question though - should I turn this into a full, chronological story? Or you do you prefer these non chronological short stories?

Smoke and ash billowed into the sky in thick clouds that covered the stars in inky blackness. Every leaf and tree in the forest was covered in a thin layer of soot, and the woods were silent, save for the cracking of branches as the young man tore through the undergrowth. Asra’s arms pumped at his side, not even flinching as a barbed branch tore across his face, leaving a line of blood on his cheek.

He had to get there. He had to. He came stumbling to a stop, baring his teeth at a mass of undergrowth that blocked his way. In the distance, he could hear the sloshing of waves against the beach. He was almost there. He waved his hand with a snarl, flames billowing from his fingertips and lighting the forest up, burning the brambles away and Asra leaped through, caring little of the fact that the edge of his scarf sizzled as he raced forward. 

Almost there. Almost.

His boot caught a root and he shouted, landing hard as his elbows scraped against the ground and he grimaced, pushing himself up so he was sitting. Pain shot up through his ankle and he cursed, glancing over to his foot. Twisted, damn it. Lavender eyes roamed over as he spotted the crumpled up letter that had fallen from his sleeve, and baring his teeth grabbed it, pushed himself upwards and streaked towards the beach, every step sending flashes of pain up through his leg.

It was completely grey with ash and soot. From above the island in the distance, thick clouds of smoke rose upwards from the tower spires that were encased in darkness.  The Lazaret. Home to the dead and dying from the disease that was now sweeping through their home. He had to get over there. 

He spotted the boat just as it bumped against the beach, and he sprinted over covered in cuts and broken branches that were tangled in his pale hair. “Stop!” He shouted to the helmsman of the rowboat. “Stop, I need you to go back to the Island!”

“Back to the island?” the man said with a snort, then shook his head. “No can do. I just took over the last group of plague victims, I’m getting the hell out of here now.”

“Please,” Asra begged, stumbling forward, ignoring the flares of discomfort in his ankle. “Please, I have to get over there!”

“I said  _ no  _ kid. If you’re looking for a stiff, check the deceased directory in the-”

He was cut off as Asra sprang forward, grabbing his collar and wrenched the man off the boat. The sailor sputtered as sand got in his mouth and sprang to his feet. “Hey!” 

Asra leaped into the boat, and as soon as his feet touched the surface, arched his hand over his head and a roiling wave was conjured beneath him, sending the boat flying forwards across the water. He planted his boot on the side of the boat, his teeth bared and hair whipping at his cheeks as he maneuvered the water around him, sending the boat like a torpedo towards the Lazaret. 

It couldn’t be true. He had to be okay. 

 

_ “Asra. You have a letter.” _

_ “I’m busy.” _

_ Muriel’s hunkering form poked his head inside, dark eyes narrowing in on his friend who was sitting close to the fire, knees pulled into his chest as he stared into the flames, Faust basking in the heat.  The hut was cold and dank, save for the warmth that emanated from the roaring fire that Asra was perched in front of.  _

_ He’d been like that for a while now. _

_ Muriel scowled. Brooding was something he found second nature by now, and it was unbecoming for Asra. “It’s from Vesuvia.” _

_ “Just put it on the table. I’ll look at it later.” _

_ At that moment, a shrieking cry had Asra jumping and his head snapped up as a golden flash streaked past Muriel’s head, wings nearly spanning the length of the small room flapping wildly as the eagle tried to find a place to perch. “Amoux?!” Asra said, jumping to his feet. “Amoux, calm down.” _

_ The bird was in a panic. It almost looked like it was in pain as it finally settled on the corner of a chair, a rolled up piece of parchment bound in a silver cord trapped in his talons.  “Amoux, what’s wrong?” Asra whispered, stroking the bird’s neck, trying to comfort the bird. And for the first time, was bitten. The bird pecked at his fingers, drawing blood and Asra hissed, pulling his hand away as Faust slithered up curiously. What had Amoux so panicked...? He looked to Muriel, whose expression was unreadable, and the larger man heaved his shoulders, features falling as though he’d just received a bad omen as he wordlessly left the room.   _

_ “Faust, find Amoux something to eat,” Asra said, gently taking the scroll from Amoux’s talons as the bird stumbled about, shaking its head in pain.  _

_ Asra’s fingers trembled as he crossed to the nearest candle, unfastening the silver cord and laid the parchment out over a table, unfurling it. The longer he read, the more his legs shook until he could scarcely hold himself upright. By the time he’d finished reading, Asra stumbled, grasping onto the edge of a table as his breath was released in a choked gasp. _

_ No...it couldn’t be. There had to be some kind of mistake.  _

_ “God damn it!” he shouted, his hand smashing the nearest object off the table - which happened to be a pot he’d made earlier and it shattered on the floor. This was all his fault.  _

_ He was out the door in seconds, about to charge into the forest when a voice called from behind. “Asra!” _

_ Asra stumbled to a stop, looking backwards. Muriel emerged from the woods, his arms filled with logs. There was pity in the hulking man’s eyes as he took a step forward. “...you will not like what you find. Spare yourself.” _

_ Asra could feel his throat constricting. The parchment was still balled in his fist as he shook his head, numb. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry, Muriel. Take care of Faust until I’m back.” _

 

The boat crashed against the black sand, sending Asra launching off and hit the ground hard. He rolled once, twice then stumbled to his feet in a staggering run, freezing at the edge of the thick forest panting. The castle of the Lazaret loomed overhead, pumping out billowing black smoke into the darkening sky. Its slit like windows burned red with the flames from within. 

“Where are you,” he whispered, unfastening a necklace from underneath his shirt. Identical to the one he knew Ren would have around his neck, carved from larimar and held it in front of him, dangling from a silver chain. He closed his eyes, focusing. 

Suddenly, the gemstone began to glow, a cyan light that bloomed in the darkness. Asra felt his shoulders slump with relief. Good. He was nearby. He brought his focus back to the charm in his hands, closing his eyes. He could feel the energy of Ren’s necklace. Now he just had to follow it. Eyes still closed, he allowed his gut to pull him forward, holding the amulet out before him as it guided him. 

He walked along the beach, giving a rasping cough as ash filled his lungs. It was like there was a smoky layer that encompassed the entire island. Finally, the magic in the amulet died, and he opened his eyes.

He expected to find himself at the edge of the Lazaret.

But he was nowhere near it.

Instead, he stood on the edge of the beach, the dark waters crawling up and racking across the ash and sand. “This can’t be right,” Asra muttered, the billowing winds of the sea pushing his hair about as he looked up and down the length of the beach - and then he saw it. Markers, sticking up out of the sand.....hundreds of them.

He looked downwards. 

He stood upon a small grave, marked by a simple stone. 

No....no, this couldn’t be right.

He lifted the amulet again, focusing, legs trembling beneath him. Again, he felt the energy focused right here. Right where he was standing.

_ “No!” _

The word was torn from his throat in a broken sob as he fell to all fours and before he could think, he was tearing at the ash and sand. His fingertips burned as he dug until they bled, pulling away the earth and sand and ash as rain began to pur from the sky above. Rivulets of tears and rain ran down his cheeks as he tore through the sand. 

His fingers caught on something. Something cold, and steel. Trembling fingers pushed away the pile of ash that had been buried, pulling up a silver chain, and a blackened obsidian arrowhead that dangled listlessly. 

....no. 

Tears fell in an unbroken stream as Asra fell forward, his palms pressing into the ash and sand as he sobbed with the force of someone vomiting on all fours, his wails of despair echoing into the flames and shadow of the Lazaret.  

  
  



	4. Your Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the apprentice's death, Asra finds Julian to give him a piece of his mind. Angsty stuff.

The candle lit room was completely silent, save for the sounds of a quill scratching against the surface of parchment. The crimson haired male was hunched over in his chair, tired bags under his eye as he kept his head propped up with a hand that tangkled into his hair, elbow pressing uncomfortably into the wooden table. Jars of leeches, floating eyeballs with reddened scleras and various medical tools littered the cluttered counters, one of the two beds covered in parchments and scrolls.

And the other bed lay completely bare. 

...it seemed so empty here, now. 

Placing down his parchment, Julian pushed back his bangs, his red tinted eye roaming over his scroll, jaded and tired. Suddenly, his face contorted into a snarl as he shredded the paper in two, throwing it to the side. Another failure. Another dead end.  

He leaned back against the wall, rubbing his face. His skin was hot to the touch, and slick with sweat and as he glanced over to a nearby mirror, cracked by something being thrown at it, he caught a reflection of himself in the broken fragments. Bedraggled, skin pale and one eye already tinted red with the plague. He looked like a mess...

Just like how  _ he  _ did, right before he was dragged off. 

Another bout of uncomfortable grief welled in Julian’s stomach as he turned back towards his desk, pressing his palms into the wooden surface as his eyes scanned the parchments and scrolls. ...he should have tried harder. 

A sharp rap on the door had Julian jolting as he spun around, his body tense as the door swung open. Every hair on his body prickled as the slim figure slipped into the room, every motion serpentine. “Doctor No. 069,” Valdemar hissed, giving a curious tilt of his head as he drummed his thin fingers together. 

As the lower half of his face was covered in a white surgical mask, the only display of emotion could be found in the depths of his reptilian red eyes. The corners of them seem to crinkle with excitement. “Have you made any new progress?”

“I..” Julian hesitated. “A little bit.” He motioned to the parchments lain out. “I’ve been studying the patient analysis, and I found that most of the victims who contracted the plague were within the vicinity of-”

“Yes, yes, yes, I don’t care,” Valdemar impatiently waved his hand and Julian clenched his fist. His superior was so immersed and fascinated with this plague, sometimes Julian wondered if he ever truly did want to find a cure. “Join me in an hour, once I’m finished with my current subje- patient, I’d like to go over with you details that I’ve found.”

From beyond the door behind Valdemar, red light spilled into the room and Julian could hear the distinct sound of tortured wails coming from Valdemar’s ‘patients.’ He cringed, looking away from Valdemar and gave a low breath, closing his eyes. “I’ll make sure to find you,” he said slowly, careful to keep himself and his temper in check. He turned back to his work.

“Doctor No. 69.” 

Julian flinched. He could practically feel the fanged smile from behind Valdemar’s mask. “Yes.”

“If you ever feel like you are unable to continue your research, please notify me at once. Your body will prove most useful in dissecting the origins and potency of this plague and I most look forward to picking you apart!”

A chill slithered down Julian’s spine. “I uh...will keep that in mind, Valdemar.”

His superior left without a word, slamming the door and returning to his work. As Julian sat back down at his desk, he strained to ignore the tortured screams that echoed through the dungeon, to no avail. 

 

 

 

He wasn’t sure how long he was sleeping. Only that he was awoken by the sounds of Valdemar screeching into the darkness. “Get back! You can’t be in here!”

The door burst open and before Julian was even fully awake, rough hands grabbed his collar, wrenching him up from his desk and slammed him against the wall. Julian’s head cracked against the stone and he slumped over, held aloft by this man who gazed at him, lavender eyes rimmed with red and burning with fury.  _ “This is all your fault!”  _ He shouted, fingers curving into Julian’s coat.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Julian said swiftly, quickly analyzing the situation. His dagger was on his bed. Too weak to fight. Dealing with someone who was obviously completely bonkers. This would require a sharp tongue rather than a sharp weapon. “Just calm down, who are...” he trailed off as he looked into Asra’s eyes. 

He remembered him.

He had the appearance of someone you don’t easily forget, with his stark white hair, tanned skin and violet eyes. 

He felt his blood run cold as guilt surged through him.

“...Asra?”

Asra blinked, as if surprised for a moment that Julian remembered him as he growled, releasing Julian who stumbled backwards, straightening his collar.  The lanky male watched Asra warily as the man began to pace the room in agitation, eyes seeming to scan every detail of the room. “So this is where he worked,” he muttered, voice thick as he placed his hand on the wall, closing his eyes.

Almost instantly, his breath was released in a pained gasp as he stumbled backwards, face contorting in grief. “So much pain here,” he whispered, letting his eyes roam over the empty bed. “He didn’t belong in a place like this.”

He was looking at a piece of parchment on the desk, and Julian leaned over to see what he was looking at. Ren’s registry into the Lazaret.

 

**Ethren Whitecross**

**D.O.B May 19**

**D.O.D December 14**

 

“You...” Julian cleared his throat, stepping forward. “You were Ren’s master, correct?”

He regretted asking as soon as the words left his mouth. As if Asra remembered why he came here his lips flatlined as he glanced over to Julian, eyes pools of loathe as his pale brows narrowed. “His fiance, actually.”

Julian’s stomach lurched. Ren never mentioned being engaged. He tried to find the words to say as Asra paced the room, drawing in every fragment of Ren’s former presence. The small charms of protection that were twisted around the barred window in their door. The scimitar leaning against the wall. 

“He was one of the finest healers here.”

Asra had been inspecting the scimitar, holding it and running his finger over the blade when he jolted at Julian’s words, his finger slicing over the edge with a hiss. “That’s surprising,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. After focusing for a moment, his fingertip glowed with a white light, and the small wound closed up. “Ren does not have a particularly...nurturing nature.”

Strained laugh bubbled from Julian. “Damn straight,” he said, the corner of his lip twitching up into a smile. “So impatient with the patients. But he worked harder than everyone in this shithole combined. Researched all night, and into the day.” He hesitated, his eyes roaming over to the bed, careful to keep his red one covered. “...he wore himself ragged working. Until he neglected his own health.”

Asra might have been a statue, he’d grown so still. He held Ren’s sword in his hands, stroking the flat end softly as though he might have a pet, running his thumb along the steel. “Typical,” he finally muttered, closing his eyes. “He never did have the most concern for his own health. Always hyper focused on others.”

“It’s what made him the best.”

“It’s also what killed him. You failed him, Julian.”

Julian’s stomach dropped like a rock as Asra turned, eyeing Julian hatefully. The way he was holding the sword, Julian was sure the magician might run him through with it. Asra carried himself across the room and Julian flinched, closing his eyes, expecting for the scimitar to bury itself into his gut. Instead, soft hands brushed away his auburn bangs, holding them against his forehead. 

Asra’s expression was unreadable as his lavender gaze roamed across Julian’s bloody eye. “I thought so,” he murmured after a minute of silence. He stepped back, letting Julian’s hair drop. He leveled his gaze on Julian for a long moment, the latter turned away slightly. “You took my future away from me,” his words were spoken slowly with care. “I want to say this is the most fitting fate destiny could have chosen for you.” His fists were clenched at his side. “But he wouldn’t have wanted that. I can’t wish this upon you.” He glanced upwards, jaw tight as he stepped forward, pressing a crumpled piece of paper into Julian’s hand. “Starting tomorrow, you and I are going to work in the palace. We’re going to find the cure.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “His sacrifice cannot be in vain.”

Without another word, Asra pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and swept out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Julian was frozen in place for a long while, fingers wrapped around the parchment Asra had given him. For some reason, he didn’t find himself wanting to look at it. But he swept across the room, sitting down at the desk and let the parchment unfurl before him. 

He instantly recognized Ren’s script, and his heart found its way into his throat as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Here we go.

 

_ Asra, _

_ I don’t expect you to forgive me. The decision I made was selfish. When Dr. Devorak gave me that offer, to work with him on a cure for the plague, I didn’t just do it to find a cure. You were right. It was about our fight...I had to prove myself. Otherwise, I would have driven myself crazy, in thoughts of doubt, of hesitation. I had to do something amazing. And Dr. Devorak gave me the opportunity to do so.  _

_ I want you to know that when I look to the future, I still see the promise that we made on the docks. The promise of our future. Of the home we plan to build on the beach, our cottage against the water. Of the horses in the pasture behind our homes, and the sea and fresh air. _

 

Julian became so immersed in reading, he didn’t notice the way the ink began to glow as his eyes roamed over the inked words until he found his consciousness plummeting away from his cold, dark chamber and found himself standing on the edge of a beach. He knew instantly this is what Ren saw. A beach of long, white sand stretching out to the horizon, with countryside and forest behind him. The waters were deep blue, raking up across the sand. 

Then, quick as he left the room, he returned, eyes again on the parchment. He recalled Ren talking about infusing magic in his written words...but this was the first time he’d ever seen it first hand.

 

_ When things started to get rough, all I wanted was to come home to you. Find you and Muriel, and wait out the storm. But I couldn’t. As I’ve worked here with Dr. Devorak, it became less about proving myself, and more finding a cure. He inspires me, to work hard and be self sacrificing. I can’t leave here. And now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. _

_ I’m sick, Asra. I contracted the Red Death. And now, it’s only a matter of time until it takes me, too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t come home to you like I promised. I’m sorry that I had to be selfish. I’m sorry I couldn’t fulfill my promise. I hope to every god that you find a way to forgive yourself and move on. I want you to be happy, somewhere safe, without disease or death or despair. _

 

The words glowed again. Julian caught a whiff of herbal tea, the flash of a cozy cabin tucked into the woods. Of Asra, at peace and curled up on a sofa with a book in hand, Faust curved around his shoulders and the silhouette of someone coming from around the corner, pressing their lips to Asra’s cheek and the sound of children in the distance. 

 

_ I want you to live the life you envisioned for us. Be happy. Be safe. I love you. _

_ If you can, make friends with Dr. Devorak. He is the most selfless man I’ve ever met. He could use a friend like you. _

_ ~ Ethren _

 

Julian placed down the letter, still and silent. A red droplet slid around his crimson eye, splashing onto the letter and staining it with blood as Julian gave a choked sob, doubling over, curving his fingers into his hair as he grated his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head with despair. “I’m so sorry.” 

 


End file.
